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Mostyn Powers

He earns £500 an hour, has a reputation as a legal rottweiler and has gained the nickname 'Mr Payout' because of the colossal sums he has controversially won for ex-wives. But when Lynn Barber visits Nicholas Mostyn QC, she finds a charming traditionalist who loves nothing more than a feuding couple getting back together

Whenever there are claims that London is becoming 'the divorce capital of the world', as there have been again recently, the name Nicholas Mostyn QC is bound to come up. He is probably the top divorce lawyer in Britain and also 'one of the scariest divorce barristers in town'. This is reflected in his fees - £500 an hour - and his nickname of 'Mr Payout' because of the enormous sums he has won for divorcees. He famously won £5m for Melissa Miller, wife of a City fund manager, after a marriage of less than three years, with no children. For Karen Parlour, ex-wife of England footballer Ray Parlour, Mostyn successfully argued she was entitled to a share of the midfielder's future earnings because she had saved him from alcoholism and thus enabled him to have a career. When Roman Abramovich announced he and his wife were getting a divorce, several newspapers said Irina Abramovich was consulting Nicholas Mostyn. She wasn't at all - Mostyn has no idea where the story originated - but it is a mark of his fame that 'consulting Nicholas Mostyn' has become almost journalistic shorthand for 'is expecting a huge payout'. He seemed so much the champion of divorcees that Observer Woman magazine voted him number 31 in its top 50 poll of men who understand women.

So it came as a huge surprise when it was announced last year that Sir Paul McCartney's solicitor Fiona Shackleton had retained Mostyn to act for McCartney in his divorce from Heather Mills. It looked like a brilliant coup on Shackleton's part, to pre-empt the opposition. Mills's mistake was to be slow off the mark: she waited several weeks before hiring Anthony Julius as her solicitor, by which time Mostyn was bagged. (We can now look forward to a replay of the royal divorce, in which Julius acted for Diana and Shackleton for Charles.) Would Mostyn have acted for Mills if she'd come to him first? He practically faints at the impropriety of the question - lawyers are not allowed to talk about current cases - but insists: 'The rules of the Bar are absolutely simple: you have to do the first case that comes your way. It's the one who gets their retainer on to my clerk's computer first. That's the rule, absolutely.' So presumably Heather could have had him if she'd asked first.

Anyway, who is he, this legal rottweiler, this scariest barrister in Britain? I went to see him at his Middle Temple chambers and found him affable, urbane, patient, not scary at all. But then, of course, I was not facing him in court. He looks younger than his 50 years and is something of a dandy, with his flowered braces, gold signet ring and blow-dried hair. When I ask if it is true that he earns £500 an hour, he says smoothly, 'I'm not ashamed of that - I don't have any left-wing ideological baggage.'

He once described himself, in a Times interview, as 'Catholic, Welsh, Wagnerian', which is quite an odd conjunction. The 'Wagnerian' dates from when he was 13 and his mother played the Tannhauser overture on the gramophone and he thought, 'That's extraordinary!' He has been a devotee ever since and says his dream career would be to be principal conductor at Bayreuth. The Welshness is more of a puzzle, given he has never lived in Wales. He grew up in Nigeria, Venezuela and El Salvador, because his father worked for British American Tobacco. 'I don't know where I grew up. I'm rootless really. But,' he insists, 'I do feel ethnically Welsh. On Tebbit's cricket test, they are the team I support. Mostyns have been in North Wales since the mists of time, and we came out of Wales with Henry Tudor and fought beside him at Bosworth. My ancestor was given Henry Tudor's sword and bore it back to Mostyn Hall, Mostyn.' The Lord Mostyn who lives in Mostyn Hall now is from a separate, Protestant, branch of the family, but clearly these remote historic associations are important for Mostyn the barrister, who lives in Hertfordshire.

As for the Catholicism, isn't it rather odd for a Catholic to be a divorce lawyer? I thought Catholics were supposed to disapprove of divorce. 'We've always recognised that marriages fail - that's why the Roman church has a procedure for annulling marriages. Indeed, the late Pope, in a famous lecture he gave to the lawyers in Rome who deal with these annulments, said it's the responsibility of us working in this field to deal with it in as compassionate and humane a way as possible, and whenever possible to promote reconciliation. Which is what I do. I always do. People come in with the most ridiculous reasons for getting a divorce - "We're bored" - and I do say, "But it doesn't sound that bad, why get divorced? Marriage is supposed to be for better or for worse." People seem to have a very idealistic and rose-tinted view of marriage nowadays; they expect it's going to be ambrosia every day - I just don't understand it. I mean, it's a real struggle, marriage. So I do try - and I do sometimes ask people whether this is truly the step they want to take. And nothing makes me happier than those few cases I've had over the years where people reconcile, sometimes at the door of the court. We tear up the file and off they go.'

So he is a practising Catholic who believes that marriage is for life. He has been married to his wife Lucy for 26 years and they have four children, ranging in age from 20 to nine. (He once joked that his youngest son Charlie is living proof that the rhythm method 'doesn't bloody well work'.) And yet his parents - 'Good Catholics!' he laughs - have seven marriages between them, their first to each other and then three more each. They married too young, he thinks - his mother was 18, his father just over 20, and 'It all blew up when I was 13 and we were living in Venezuela and then there was a tremendous divorce, with kidnappings between parents, and I was made a ward of court. My father was posted to El Salvador where he married again and that lady died, leaving me with a half-brother and half-sister who are half-Salvadorean. Then he married again, and that didn't work out. Then he married again and that didn't work out. My mother married a most charming and amusing man who unfortunately happened to be a criminal - a cannabis smuggler - but he could charm monkeys out of trees. And then she married again. And again. There was nothing sheltered about my childhood at all. It was a very disordered childhood.'

Was it this maritally turbulent background that made him become a divorce lawyer? 'Well, that would be so easy to say, but the truth is much more banal - the teacher who was most inspirational at Bristol University was the family law teacher. I was not a high-flier at school, definite three Bs, Cambridge reject, but I won the Observer Mace [debating prize] with Edward Stourton when I was at Ampleforth, and Ed Stourton and I both agreed we were going to make our livings from talking. He went to broadcasting and I went to the law. But I hadn't decided what field, and then there was this lovely man at Bristol who got me interested in family law and recommended me to these chambers, and I've been here ever since.'

He was called to the Bar in 1980 and cut his teeth on domestic violence cases in Edmonton County Court. But in those days the Family Division was terribly unsmart - 'It was known as the Farmyard division and all the other barristers used to look down their noses at us. It's only now in the past few years we've suddenly become the real belles of the ball.'

The case that changed everything was White vs White in 2000 - 'year zero' he calls it - which resulted in a landmark ruling that in future 'there should be no bias in favour of the money-earner and against the home-maker and the child-carer'. This opened the floodgates for all the recent huge payouts to wives. Ironically, Mostyn was on the losing side in the White case. 'I was acting for the husband, a Somerset farmer, and trying to hold the line, saying wives should just be confined to their needs and no more, but that was the case that changed everything.'

The interesting thing is he doesn't necessarily approve of this state of affairs, even though he benefits from it. He is too much of a lawyer to tell me what he really does believe, but I thought there were hints. 'A lot of people have expressed personal views that the pendulum has swung too far and it's far too favourable for wives now. I think everyone would agree the regime before White and White when wives were just confined to what might be called an annuity for need was grossly unfair, and needed to be rectified. And I don't have a problem with the idea of sharing the assets of the marriage equally. But as to whether people should be entitled to a share in the income - which was the controversial aspect of the Parlour case - I think that's more difficult.' In other words, he has won cases he doesn't necessarily believe in. But that, he says, is what being a good barrister is all about. 'You have to say goodbye to your personal ideology. We're just paid hands.'

Given that the law now seems to have swung so much in favour of generous divorce payouts, is there anything rich people can do to protect themselves from gold-diggers? 'Yes. If you want to protect your money from the powers of the court, then don't get married. You know, what some people are doing now - I've had two cases - is having some sort of ceremony where she turns up in white, but everyone is careful NOT to call her a bride, and there's a cake, but not a wedding cake, so it looks like a wedding, but is definitely not a wedding, so if the relationship breaks down nobody can seek a divorce.' Do pre-nuptial agreements carry any weight? 'Yes, they do. If they're in the zone of fairness they'll probably be decisive, but they can't automatically be. And they have to be accompanied by legal advice and a good breathing space before the wedding. Those ones signed when the guests are en route are no good.'

However, the problem with the present state of divorce settlement, he thinks, is that it has been arrived at purely by rulings of judges without any opportunity for public debate. 'It is not democratic for this enormous social change to have happened without Parliament considering it. Because when Parliament last considered it substantively, back in 1970, it was never intended that division of assets would be 50:50. And when they looked at it again in l984 - which was the last time they considered it - Parliament was absolutely clear they were going along with confining wives to their reasonable needs, and no more. But the White case changed that. As I say, I have no problem with the content of the new rules, but is it right that this enormous social change should be done by judges? One of the reasons why I agreed to do this interview is I wanted to say as loudly as I could that Parliament should consider it. Do we agree to the equal division of partnership assets on divorce? Let there be a public debate about it: let the tribunes of the people decide.'

Does he find press coverage of divorce payouts is sometimes misogynistic - when a non-working wife gets a large payout, there often seems to be a slight implication of "lucky cow"? 'Well I can see the point of the independent working woman who might look over her shoulder at the traditional domestic wife who's been awarded a large payout saying, "But I've done more than that! I've managed the domestic infrastructure and worked as well." I can see that argument. But that's why I say, let our MPs debate it in Parliament and let them have a free vote. Why not?' He seems to expect an answer so I tell him - because it's abhorrent to think of politicians telling us how to run our private lives. 'What! You prefer judges?' he exclaims, genuinely amazed.

The big dilemma facing Mostyn now is when and whether to become a judge himself. He has been a deputy High Court judge since 2000, sitting 15 days a year, and would almost certainly be appointed if he applied. But he is in no hurry: 'Perhaps one day. When I'm overwhelmed by ennui perhaps.' Financially, he is better off as a barrister (he reportedly earns at least £800,000 a year), but the thought of a judge's pension is quite tempting. The trouble is it is much more fun being a barrister. 'That's the big dilemma. There was a really nice chap, Sir Michael Hart, who died the other day of lung cancer, aged 58, and he was made a High Court judge, and all the obits said he absolutely hated it, missed the collegiality and camaraderie of the Bar, went into the corridor of corpses. So it is very different. On the other hand, judging is much easier than being a barrister - oh, much. Deciding cases is much easier than having to win them.' Also, you almost have to change character, he says, when you become a judge. 'You have to suppress any tendency to flamboyance, to exuberance - as a barrister, you are expected to show off a bit. But if you become a judge you have to eschew all that. When I sit as a judge I put a large piece of paper in front of me that says, "Shut up".'

He is a complete traditionalist when it comes to the law: he wants everyone wearing wigs and gowns and addressing the judge as M'lud. He is appalled that the new rules for the Supreme Court, starting in 2008, say that Latin shall not be used in any circumstances except for the words Regina and Rex. 'Which I think is terrible! Now there's a rumour the Court of Appeal are going to drop robes!' But surely anything that would make the law more transparent, more accessible, less mired in archaic flummery, would be a good thing? 'No! I think it's the golden thread of history that takes us back through all the famous judges back to Lord Coleridge and Lord Mansfield.'

The law is the one thing he seems really passionate about - he says he'd love it if one of his children became a lawyer. And he is willing to sacrifice his vast earning powers to do pro bono cases when he thinks there is an important issue of law involved, particularly for people with Child Support problems. I spoke to one of his clients, Helen Smith, who told me that in 2003 she was in despair because the CSA had just reassessed her maintenance (for three children) from £179.85 a week down to £11.29. She wrote to the Law Society and asked, 'If I could pay, who would be the best CSA solicitor?' and they recommended James Pirrie in London. So she persuaded Pirrie to handle her case and he said, 'You need a barrister' and wrote to Nicholas Mostyn, who replied immediately, 'I will represent this lady for nothing.' 'Those were his exact words,' says Smith, 'and I nearly fell over backwards. We felt the cavalry had arrived. He is the most marvellous barrister, a work of art to watch. It's like a perfect performance - totally honed, sleek, eloquent, enthralling. If I could get to London I would go just to watch him. And his language is so impressive. I remember when we were in the Court of Appeal he was suddenly taken ill and had to leave the room - I think it was his stomach. He came back 15 minutes later and said, "I have taken morphia!"'

The CSA is something he feels strongly about. When I asked if he could make one legal reform, what would it be, he suddenly dropped his normal urbane manner and became an impassioned orator. 'I think the performance of the CSA has been the greatest failure of public administration in the history of this country. The figures are simply mind-boggling. In its history, it has assessed about £8bn in child maintenance, and managed to collect about £4bn at a cost of £3bn. You might as well just pay them out of taxes. And the government's proposed reforms of the CSA are hopeless. The basis of the CSA is that child maintenance will be done by administrative assessment by a bureaucrat by reference to a formula - that was introduced in 1993. It did not work! They then had another act of Parliament to try and sort it out in 1995. It did not work! Labour came in, full of good intentions, "We're going to sort this out, it's going to be brilliant." Act of Parliament in 2000 - total failure! So if I was given a free bill in Parliament, it would be that. Abolish the CSA.'

Phew. It's as if a tornado has entered the room, and suddenly I can see how devastating he must be in court. When he argues a case, you find yourself nodding helplessly, too terrified to disagree. If the McCartney divorce case ever comes to court, Heather Mills will find herself facing a most formidable opponent....

Mostyn's Top Cases

The Parlours

Karen Parlour was awarded more than £4m in 2004 in a divorce settlement from former Arsenal footballer Ray Parlour. It was ruled that her efforts to curb Parlour's addiction to the 'laddish' footballer drinking culture meant she had played an important role in his career. She won a £250,000 lump sum, an annual personal maintenance allowance of £406,500, two tax-free homes and £37,000 maintenance for their three children. She also secured 37.5 per cent of his future earnings.

The Millers

Last year Alan Miller, who was married to Melissa Miller for just under three years, was told to hand over £5m of his reported £65m fortune (a figure he strenuously denies). Alan, the manager of a large City hedge fund, referred to his ex-wife as a 'waste of space' and insisted that running her over would have cost him less in compensation. This year he's taking the ruling to the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg.

The Sorrells

Sir Martin Sorrell, CEO of WPP - one of the largest advertising groups in the world - was ordered to share his marital assets 60:40 with ex-wife Sandra in 2005. She was awarded £29m after being 'marginalised and dehumanised' by her husband during their 32-year marriage. This mammoth payout included a £23.4m lump sum, £2m in bank deposits, the couple's £3.25m home and two parking spaces worth nearly £200,000.

The Lamberts

Harry Lambert, a newspaper proprietor, was told in 2001 to pay his ex-wife Shan £7.5m. A year later the figure was increased by £2.6m (to half his £20m fortune). He described his ex-wife's contribution to their 23-year marriage as 'revolving around children and the microwave'. The judge responded: 'It is unacceptable to place greater value on the contribution of the breadwinner than that of the homemaker.'

The Graffs Model, socialite and actress Zeta Graff won the right to £10m after divorcing diamond heir Francois Graff in 2003. The settlement included a London property and a jewellery collection. Francois's family was, at the time, reportedly worth more than £100m. The couple were married for nine years and had one son. Mostyn described the settlement as a 'crushing victory'.Laura Potter